In The Line Of Fire
by dawn341
Summary: Highlander/Sentinel crossover. Blair feels guilty when a stranger by the name of Richie Ryan intercepts bullets meant for him and dies in his arms. Originally published in Sentry Post 1


In The Line Of Fire by Dawn Cunningham

Disclaimers:

Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, and Simon Banks belong to Pet Fly Productions. Richie Ryan and Duncan MacLeod belong to Rysher - so does the real old guy who gets mentioned but never shows up in the story. I'm just borrowing them and not getting paid for it. Most other characters are my own.

Do not post or publish this story anywhere else, without my express permission. Feel free to share it with others as long as the disclaimers remain intact.

This story was originally published in Sentry Post 1. I wrote this story many years ago.

* SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT * SENT *

In The Line Of Fire by Dawn Cunningham

Detective James Ellison gave a sigh of relief as he finished signing the last form. He added it to the large stack on his desk before leaning back and stretching. What a day. Paperwork was bad enough when you fired your weapon. It quadrupled when you killed someone. But when the body disappeared, the paperwork became an avalanche of forms.

Standing up, he tried to work the kink out of his back. Sandburg should have been here - he could have helped with all the paperwork. Instead, he was over at the university helping out with some kind of new student orientation. On second thought, maybe his Guide had gotten the worst of the deal.

Looking around, he realized for the first time that the Major Crimes squad room was practically empty. Except for a few other detectives, most of the people had either gone home for the night or gone out for dinner.

Jim walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee as he thought over his last case. John Gillespie had become one of the major drug suppliers in Cascade, thanks to inside help from a cop on the take. The task force Jim led had finally cornered the man three days ago and Gillespie had come out shooting. Sixteen bullets from five different weapons had struck the man, leaving no doubt as to his death. Less than twelve hours later, his body had disappeared from the morgue before an autopsy had been performed.

Sandburg had come up with some interesting theories for the missing body, ranging from zombies, to UFOs, to a major government cover-up. All Jim knew was that the body was gone. And he'd just done the paperwork to confirm it.

The phone on his desk rang and he went to answer it. "Ellison," he clipped out.

"Greetings, Detective Ellison. It's payback time. I hope you said good-bye to your young friend this morning because you won't get another chance." The sound of six shots being fired blasted across the phone line before it went dead.

"NO!" Jim yelled.

Simon ran out of his office when he heard Jim yell. "What's wrong?!" When Jim continued to stare at the phone in his hand, he shook the detective harshly. "Jim! What is it?"

Unable to believe what he had just heard, Jim struggled to communicate. "I think he shot Blair."

"Who? Where?"

"I don't know. Sandburg was supposed to be at the university today."

Simon turned to one of the other detectives who were standing around staring at Ellison. "Call campus security. See what you can find out. Have them check Sandburg's office at the anthropology building. Call me on my cell phone when you get any info."

Jim was already running for the elevators and Simon raced to catch up with him. "Wait up, Jim. I'm coming with you."

* SENT * SENT

Lights flashing, Jim drove as fast as he could towards the university. He had to keep reminding himself that, just because he heard shots, it didn't mean that Blair had been the target. Or the bullets could have missed him altogether. Or he could be... No, he wouldn't go there. The thought that his friend, his Guide, might be dead was more than he could handle right now. It was easier to concentrate on his driving.

On the way, he filled Simon in on the phone call.

"Did you recognize the voice?" Simon asked, as he re-dialed the number of Sandburg's office, hoping that this time the young man would answer.

"It sounded familiar, but I don't remember from where," Jim growled in frustration. "Why Sandburg? If he wanted revenge, why didn't he come after me?"

"We don't know what happened yet, Jim," Simon reassured him as he hung up. "It might be an elaborate ruse - to try to get you to think Sandburg was dead."

A moment later, the cell phone rang. "Banks," Simon answered. He listened intently for what seemed an eternity to Jim before hanging up. "Jim, the campus police confirmed that there was a shooting. An ambulance has been dispatched. Their office hasn't received word yet on who the victim was." Simon gave Jim directions to the scene of the crime and soon they could see the flashing lights next to the student union.

Screeching to a halt by the cluster of campus security cars, the Sentinel jumped out of his truck and hurried past the vehicles only to see a sight that sent waves of nausea flowing through him. There on the sidewalk, in front of Sandburg's Volvo, was a body, covered completely by a sheet - a sheet already showing blood stains. Dimly, he felt Simon's supporting hand on his shoulder as he stood there in shock, unable to believe that Blair was gone. Taken from him in what must have been an act of revenge.

Jim could feel moisture running down his face and for a moment he wondered if a person could cry without knowing it. Instead, he realized that it had started to rain, as if Nature was mourning along with him.

"Jim! Hey, Jim. Oh, man, I am *so* glad you're here!"

Looking towards the voice, Jim decided he must be hallucinating. He'd almost swear that he could see Blair standing by one of the campus security cars. Shaking his head to rid himself of the image, he looked away - back towards the body.

Another hand touched his arm. "Hey, man, are you okay?"

Turning once more, Jim looked into a very familiar face. "Chief? You're alive?" He cautiously reached out to touch Blair's shoulders.

"Well, don't sound so shocked, man. It was almost me over there. I can't believe what happened. It was like something out of a nightmare. One minute we were just talking and then boom. The car, the gun, it was so... so..."

Blair's runaway mouth stopped when Jim pulled the younger man into a quick hug of relief. "Thank God, you're all right. I thought that you had been killed." Grinning broadly, he looked Blair over, while keeping one hand firmly on his Guide's shoulder. He didn't have far to look. The anthropologist's shirt had bloodstains down the front. "You're hurt! Where's the medic?" He looked around frantically.

"I'm fine, Jim. It's not my blood - it's his." Blair nodded towards the body lying on the sidewalk. "Oh, man, I don't believe this happened. Tell me this is a nightmare, Jim. Tell me when I wake up, it will all be gone. C'mon, man, you've got to tell me that."

Jim felt the shivers running through his friend's body. "Take it easy, Blair. Everything's going to be all right." Once he felt that Sandburg had calmed down sufficiently, Jim tried to get some answers. "What happened?" he asked gently.

"I don't know - it happened so fast. One minute I was talking to Richie and then this car pulled up. The window rolled down and a gun came out. Richie took all six slugs. And then the car took off. He... he died in my arms, Jim." Blair pushed his hair back from his face in a nervous gesture before taking a deep breath.

"Richie who? Was he a friend of yours?" Simon asked.

"No. I just met him this afternoon at the orientation. I don't think he told me his last name. He was thinking about taking classes and was the last person I talked to because he came in late. We spent a lot of time discussing student aid and curriculum. Then we walked out together. He seemed like a nice guy. I can't understand why someone would have wanted to kill him."

"Chief, the shooter wasn't after him. He was after you." Jim quickly explained about the phone call.

Blair turned horrified eyes toward Jim. "You mean he died because of me?" He leaned up against the nearest vehicle.

Jim had heard Blair's heartbeat speed up. "Take it easy, Chief. We don't know that for sure yet. If he was after you, it was because of me, so either way, you aren't responsible. It was something I did - although I don't know what yet - that put you in the line of fire." He turned towards Simon. "Are we done here, sir?"

"Sure, Jim. Take him home and get him cleaned up. I'll come by when we know more. And keep an eye out. If the shooter was after Sandburg, he might try it again."

* SENT * SENT *

An hour later, Blair had showered and sat huddled up on the couch. Jim brought him a cup of tea and sat down next to him.

"I need you to tell me everything that you remember, Chief."

"It's all muddled up inside," Blair protested.

"Okay. Do like you tell me. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax. Hey, it works for me, so why not for you?" he added when he saw Blair's disbelieving stare. Jim watched as the younger man followed his instructions. "Now, think back to earlier. You and Richie are walking down the sidewalk..."

Blair nodded his head but kept his eyes closed. "We were talking about basketball."

"Then what happened?"

"We got to my car. Richie stopped talking in mid-sentence and started looking around. Kind of like you do when you hear something that no one else can."

"Do you think he might have been a Sentinel, too?" Jim interrupted.

"I don't know. Maybe. Then a car pulled up in the street..."

"What kind of car?"

"It's red - well, more maroon. A four-door sedan. Maybe a Maxima."

"Can you see the driver?"

Blair frowned in concentration. "No. The windows are tinted. One of them rolls down and I see the barrel of a gun coming out."

"Where's Richie at now?"

"He's about three feet to the left of me and then... oh, my God!" Blair's eyes flew open.

"Take it easy, Chief. The gunman must have been looking for Richie after all. You were too far apart for it to be an accidental miss."

"No. You don't understand! Richie threw himself in front of me. He saved my life at the cost of his own. Oh, God! Why would he do that, Jim?" He buried his head in his hands.

"*You* didn't kill him, Chief. The shooter did. It's not like you made him jump in front of you." A knock sounded at the door and Jim could smell cigar smoke. Simon. He went to let him in. "Did you find out anything else?" he asked before the Captain had even made it through the door.

"According to his ID, his name was Richard Ryan, age 22, from Seacouver. According to a friend of mine at Seacouver PD, he has a juvenile record, but that was sealed when he turned 18. Since then, there were two incidents. First one was an assault charge, but the victim refused to press charges. The second time, he broke into a museum and busted up some display cases. Since it was his first offense as an adult, they plea bargained - ended up with community service and paying for damages. My friend is going to try to find out more about Ryan and let me know."

"It doesn't make sense," Blair insisted. "Most people won't risk their lives to save a total stranger. And if Richie has been in trouble with the law, it makes even less sense. We're creatures of habit. He'd probably go out of his way to avoid being noticed. I can't think of any reason why he would suddenly decide to sacrifice himself."

"Maybe you were wrong about that. Maybe he was trying to get to cover and just got in the way," Simon suggested.

"No way, man. He deliberately jumped in front of me. If he had tried to push me aside, maybe I could see it, but that's not what happened."

The sound of a cell-phone ringing interrupted their conversation. Simon pulled his from his pocket. "Yeah, what is it?" He listened intently for a moment. "Well, find it then!" Another pause. "Tell me you did manage to get fingerprints... All right, but I'll want some answers in the morning. Good-bye." Flipping the phone shut he turned to the other two men. "It's happened again. Ryan's body is missing."

"What!" Jim exclaimed.

"And we don't have any fingerprints either. Whoever it was, took the body, his clothes and his wallet. Even his motorcycle helmet was taken. We can't even prove that Ryan died tonight."

"Oh, great. I can see us trying to explain to his family that he died, but we don't know where he is," Jim said sarcastically.

"Well, there's nothing more that we can do tonight. Jim, I've got someone looking into whether anybody you put away has been released recently. And the Seacouver PD will try to find the kid's next of kin and notify them. I'll see you both in the morning."

"I want to be the one to tell his family what happened," Blair spoke up, stopping Simon in his tracks.

"You don't have to do that," Jim explained. "After all, you're only a consultant to the police force. Let someone else do it."

"No! This is really important to me. I want to make sure his family understands that he died to save me," Blair insisted. "That there's some meaning to his death."

Simon and Jim exchanged glances. "Okay, Chief. We'll drive over together," Jim said before turning to the Captain. "Who do we need to contact at Seacouver PD?"

"Ask for Detective Bennett. I'll let him know you're coming." Simon's phone rang again. The conversation on his end consisted of mostly yeahs and uhuhs, while he took notes on a pad he had pulled from his pocket.

He finally clicked off the phone and turned back to Jim and Blair. "That was Bennett. Ryan's rap sheet was mostly minor stuff - shoplifting, disorderly conduct, B&E, and so forth. They could never pin anything heavy duty on him until he was caught fleeing from a break-in at an antique store. The owner refused to file charges and ended up taking Ryan in. He's an orphan, but Bennett thinks he was still close to the guy who took him in. Duncan MacLeod. Here's his address." Simon ripped a page off his notepad and handed it to Jim. "It's a dojo. MacLeod sold the antique store shortly after his fiancee was killed - shot down in the street in what was believed to be a random act of violence. Apparently Ryan was really close to her as well."

"There you go, Chief. He lost someone close in a shooting death. That must be why he jumped in front of you."

"Bennett also said that MacLeod and Ryan were witnesses to a Mob shooting," Simon continued. "But they kept insisting that they weren't in the vicinity and gave each other an alibi. MacLeod eventually came forward and identified the shooter. Ryan never did. Doesn't sound like someone willing to sacrifice his life for someone else."

"This gets more and more confusing." Blair shook his head.

"Well, Bennett is more than willing to let you inform this MacLeod of Ryan's death. Apparently he's had some run-ins with the guy before."

"All right, Chief. It looks like we're going to Seacouver."

* SENT * SENT

Blair sat silently, trying to process his feelings, as Jim drove to Seacouver. He couldn't rid himself of the thought that he shouldn't even be there. It should have been him on the ground with six bullet holes in him. Not some guy he didn't even know. Not someone who was even younger than he was.

How would he ever forget this? Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Richie's body jerking from the impact of the bullets. He could still remember listening to Richie's tortured breathing as he drew his last breaths. He could still feel the last shudder of the young man's body as he died in his arms.

And what had he been thinking of when he had insisted on telling Richie's family about his death? How could he face this Duncan MacLeod and tell the man that it had been his fault that Richie was dead? What could he say that would help alleviate the man's pain at the loss of his friend? Would he even be able to say anything? Or would he freeze up and not be able to speak at all?

"What are you thinking about?" Jim's voice interrupted his thoughts and his panic attack.

"Richie - what else?" Blair prevaricated a little, unwilling to tell Jim that he had been on the verge of a major anxiety attack. "He was younger than me and he died in my place. This kid has been robbed of his life. He won't get to go to college. He won't be able to travel and see new places and things. He won't ever have a chance now to get married and have kids. It just doesn't seem fair that I'm still breathing and he's not."

"As tough as this may seem, Chief, life isn't always fair. You have to remember that the blame rests on the guy who pulled the trigger. Don't beat yourself up about this." Jim reached over and rested his hand on Blair's shoulder for a moment. A few minutes later, he spoke again as they approached the city limits. "There should be a Seacouver map in the glove box. Figure out how to find this dojo we're looking for. And try not to get us lost." He grinned at his partner.

"I keep telling you - we weren't lost, we just went in the wrong direction," Blair shot back his standard response.

Jim felt his tension ease a little bit. It sounded like Blair was returning to normal - well as normal as he could get anyway.

Despite a few wrong turns, it didn't take long to reach the dojo. Jim climbed out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side. "You coming?" he asked Blair when he made no attempt to get out of the truck. "You don't have to, you know. I can do this by myself, if you'd like."

Blair shook his head as he climbed out of the truck. "No, this is something I have to do."

Together, they went inside. The dojo was empty except for one lone figure doing a kata in the center of the room. Jim put a restraining hand out to stop Blair from interrupting the exercise. While they waited, he studied the man. Mid-thirties, 6', lean muscular build, dark hair worn in a ponytail, and in very good physical condition. Despite the sweat that showed on his tank top, the man wasn't even breathing hard. And he obviously knew martial arts. It might be interesting to spar with the man.

Finishing his routine, the man turned towards them. "I'm sorry, we're closed for the evening. If you're interested in joining the dojo, you'll have to come back tomorrow."

"I'm Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade police department. This is Blair Sandburg. We're looking for Duncan MacLeod." He made a mental note about the man's accent. He couldn't quite place it though.

"You found me," Duncan replied. "But isn't this a little out of your jurisdiction?"

"We have the full cooperation of the Seacouver PD. Do you know a Richard Ryan?" Jim asked. Almost without thinking, Jim tuned his ears into the other man's heartbeat.

"Yes. What's he done now?" The heartbeat increased slightly.

"I'm sorry to inform you of this, but he was killed tonight in Cascade." Major increase in heartbeat. That was understandable.

"How..." Duncan stopped and Jim heard him swallow hard. "How was he killed?"

"He was shot, Mr. MacLeod. But he saved my life in the process," Blair jumped in and explained. "I... I don't know what else to say. I'm so sorry you lost your friend. I don't know why he jumped in front of me like that. It should have been me who died, not him. I'm so sorry." Blair's voice quavered on the last sentence.

Jim noticed that the heartbeat had gone back to normal. Interesting. The man's face still showed concern, though.

Duncan turned back to Jim. "I suppose you need someone to come identify the body?"

Jim faltered for a moment. "Uh... that might be a little difficult right now. We seem to have... uh... misplaced the body. But we will find it," he assured the other man. No change to the heartbeat at all. This got more and more interesting.

"I see. You have a lot of nerve coming here and telling me that my friend is dead when you don't even have a body! How do you know who he was?"

"He told me his name," Blair started.

"There must be dozens of Richie Ryans in Washington. How did you decide to come here? Did you check his fingerprints? Have his driver's license?"

Jim tried to figure out just how he had lost control of this interview. "We had his driver's license, but that disappeared along with the body."

"Tell me something, Detective. Does your department regularly go around losing things?"

"No, we don't go around losing things." Jim stopped and took a deep breath to rein in his temper.

"Just a body," MacLeod sneered.

"Well, actually two bodies," Blair said with a grimace.

"Two bodies? You've lost two bodies? Who else did you lose?"

"I'm sorry. I can't discuss that with you," Jim said, trying to cover-up for Blair's slip. Even as he did so, he pondered the dramatic increase in MacLeod's heartbeat and respiration again. And for a moment there, MacLeod had looked very worried before he had managed to cover it up.

"If you have a picture of Richie, maybe I could tell if it was him," Blair suggested. "I spent quite a bit of time with him this afternoon."

"Sorry, no pictures. Richie was camera shy. Why were you with him?"

"Richie came to the student orientation at Ranier University. I was his advisor for that."

"I thought you were with the police department?" MacLeod asked.

"I'm a special consultant, yes. But I'm a graduate student and teaching at the university while I'm working on my PHD."

"When was the last time you saw Ryan?" Jim tried to regain control.

"A few days ago. He said he was going to do some traveling. I don't expect him back for at least several weeks. I'm sure you have the wrong person here. I can't imagine Richie signing up for college classes. And until you have more proof, I refuse to believe that whoever got shot tonight was my friend."

"One more question, Mr. MacLeod. Where were you tonight at 5:30?"

"I was at a place called Joe's, having a sandwich and a drink. It's a little blues bar near here. There must have been at least a dozen people there who saw me, including the owner of the place. Are you suggesting that I'm a suspect?" MacLeod's face clouded over in anger.

"Just doing my job, Mr. MacLeod. Here's my card if you should need to contact me. C'mon, Chief. Let's go."

"But..."

"Now, Sandburg!" Jim almost pulled his Guide to the door. "Sorry to trouble you, Mr. MacLeod."

Once outside, Blair erupted. "I don't believe this. We're no closer to an answer than before we left Cascade."

"Let's go talk to this Detective Bennett. Since Ryan has been arrested before, they should have mug shots."

"That's a great idea, Jim."

Twenty minutes later, Blair sat looking at a mug shot. "Yes, it's the same guy. At least I think it is. Why is it that mug shots could make a sweet little old lady look a deranged killer? So, what do we do now? Go back and talk to MacLeod again?"

"Well, he struck me as the skeptical type. He probably won't believe his friend is dead until he sees the body." Jim turned to Detective Bennett. "What do you know about this Duncan MacLeod?"

"Well, his name seemed to show up in a lot of murder investigations. But we were never able to pin anything on him. And in a lot of cases, he was totally cleared. He just seemed to attract dead bodies. I know that sounds crazy, but that's the way it seemed."

"So what do we do now?" Blair asked Jim again.

"I guess we go home. MacLeod will probably contact us if Ryan never shows up."

* SENT * SENT

Jim pulled into his parking space at the loft. The drive home had been even quieter than the drive up to Seacouver. He had no idea what to say to Blair to ease his pain. Words always seemed to come easy for his Guide, but they didn't for him. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the young man was feeling right now - knowing that someone died in his place.

Climbing out of the truck, he waited for Blair to walk around from his side and join him before going inside. Letting his eyes scan the area, he saw a flash from the streetlight reflecting off of something metallic. "SANDBURG! GET DOWN!" he yelled just as he heard the gunshot.

The sounds of running feet met his ears and he turned to check on the anthropologist. "You okay, Sandburg?" When Blair nodded, he added, "stay here," before running after the shooter.

Drawing his weapon, Jim ran down the alley in hot pursuit. He knew he wouldn't be able to catch up to the shooter - he had too big of a head start. But hopefully, with his enhanced vision, he could get a glimpse of the man. He emerged from the alley onto the next street and heard the sound of a car door opening. Piggy-backing his sight onto his hearing he zoomed in on the noise. The face that he saw brought him to an abrupt stop, even as the shooter climbed into a dark red Maxima and peeled off down the street.

Holstering his gun, Jim headed back to the loft, dimly aware of the sounds of a motorcycle starting up and heading past him, going in the same direction as the car.

When he got back to his truck, he could hear the sounds of police sirens in the distance. Blair must have called for backup. Two minutes later, a black and white unit came screeching to a halt in front of the building. Jim gave the license plate number of the Maxima and told them to put an APB out. Before he knew it, Simon's car appeared too.

Simon got out of his car and carefully looked over Jim and Blair. "Twice in one day, Sandburg? This is getting a little old."

"Hey, it's not my fault, Simon!" Blair protested. "I didn't realize someone had painted a target on me today."

"It was Gillespie," Jim informed his Captain. "I saw him as plain as could be. And the car is registered to him, too."

"Gillespie is dead," Simon protested.

"Maybe he had a twin," Blair suggested. "Just like Tommy Juno."

"You might have something there, Sandburg," Simon said. "Maybe that's why the body disappeared from the morgue. They didn't want us to check fingerprints. So did you find out anything in Seacouver?"

"Let's go inside and talk," Jim suggested. "It's just a little bit too open out here for comfort."

Once inside the loft, Jim started up the conversation again. "I got the strangest responses from MacLeod. At first he seemed upset that his friend had died, but when Blair told him it was from a gunshot wound, he calmed down - at least inwardly. He didn't seem surprised that the body had disappeared. It wasn't until I mentioned that two bodies had turned up missing, that he got upset. Either way, he doesn't think the Richie Ryan who died tonight is his friend. We checked out the mug shots and Blair gave a positive ID."

Simon sighed. "Why can't anything be simple? Could MacLeod be in on this somehow?"

"He's got an alibi - he said he was at a nearby bar. Bennett is going to check it out since he knows the place and the guy who owns it," Jim said. "There's definitely something strange about MacLeod, but I can't put my finger on it. It's like he expected to hear that Ryan had died - but not by gunshot. But for now I think we need to concentrate on finding Gillespie," Jim said.

"But what about Richie?" Blair protested.

"We'll keep trying to find his body. But he's not the one taking pot shots at you, Chief."

"I'll set up a safe house first thing tomorrow," Simon informed them. "Sandburg should be safe here tonight. I'll have a black and white unit outside, all night, just to be on the safe side."

"No way, man! I have too much work to do at the university before classes start next week!" Blair crossed his arms and sat back defiantly. "I'm not going to go."

Simon scowled at him. "You won't be teaching *any* classes if that shooter gets to you, Sandburg."

"Okay, Chief, how about this? I'll take you back and forth from here to the campus. When there, you'll stay in your office - with the door locked. You go nowhere and let no one in. Deal?"

"Deal. But I still don't like it."

"As long as it keeps you alive," Jim said.

"I'll assign an officer to stay with him the whole time he's at the university," Simon chipped in. "Maybe the sight of a uniform will make the shooter change his mind about trying anything."

"Get real, Simon! Do you have any idea what kind of rumor mill a university campus is? If I have a uniformed cop hanging around me, everyone will assume that I'm in trouble with the law. The next thing you know, I'll be out of a job for some trumped up reason. I've seen it happen."

"Besides, Captain," Jim added. "If it is Gillespie or his twin, the sight of a uniformed officer would be taken as a challenge to get around."

"You two are impossible and I don't know why I put up with you," Simon huffed as he stood to leave. "If there is one more attempt at Sandburg - assuming he survives it - he goes to the safe house. No arguments."

Jim walked Simon out to his car, doing another sweep of the area with his senses. Nothing appeared out of place. The squad car sat across the street from the loft and he waved at the two uniformed officers before going back inside.

* SENT * SENT *

Jim sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He'd been staring at the computer terminal for hours, but getting no answers. He'd finally come to the conclusion that Gillespie just didn't exist. There were no records prior to ten years ago for the man. Somehow, he had manufactured a new identity for himself.

Glancing at the clock, Jim realized that he had better hurry if he wanted to pick up Sandburg on time. He shut down the computer, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and headed for his truck.

So far, there had been no sign of Gillespie. Not when he dropped Sandburg off that morning or from the APB that had been put out on the Maxima. Maybe he had given up and fled town. Or maybe he was just waiting until they relaxed and stopped being so careful before trying again.

Pulling into a parking spot at the university, Jim scanned the area before heading for Sandburg's office. The loud beat of music reached his ears as he drew closer, and he mentally lowered his sound sensitivity. When he reached Sandburg's door, he tried the knob. Locked. Good. For once his Guide seemed to be following directions. He knocked, then pounded on the door, then finally yelled to get Sandburg's attention.

The noise level receded, and Jim heard the door unlocking. "Sorry, Jim," an unrepentant Blair said. "Didn't hear you over the music. You won't believe what I've found. Come in and take a look at this." Blair practically bounced his way back across the office to the desk where his laptop was.

"What did you find now?" Jim figured it had to be some new Sentinel information based on Blair's exuberance and he almost smiled at the realization that his friend was starting to recover from the trauma of the day before. Blair's next sentence drove that thought from his mind.

"I did a search on the Internet for Richie Ryan..."

"You did *what*! I think you're starting to become obsessed with this guy, Blair. You need to back off."

"I just wanted to see if I could find anything, and I did," Blair defended his actions. "I found a news story from Paris about two years ago. Seems there was an accident at a motorcycle race. A young rookie by the name of Richie Ryan died."

"So? It's not that unusual of a name. And based on his record, how could he afford to go to Paris?"

"They gave a brief bio on him - he was born in Seacouver and was the same age as the Richie Ryan who died here! It has to be the same guy!"

"Were there any pictures?"

"Well...no. But I haven't had a chance to research it fully."

"Listen, Sandburg. People don't die more than once. It's a fact of life. You're born, you live, you die. Either it's not the same guy or else the article was wrong. Maybe he was just badly injured..."

"Or maybe he came back from the dead, Jim." Blair pulled a book off the shelf behind him and started thumbing through it. "When I was doing my Sentinel research I came across some tales that seemed so improbable that I ignored them. A lot of cultures talk about people rising from the dead. In some of the cultures they were worshipped as gods. In others, they were feared and driven from their homes."

"C'mon, Sandburg. Even I know better than that. Today we have sophisticated machines and equipment to measure heartbeats and brain activity. Back then, people were often thought to have died when they were simply unconscious."

"No. I thought of that, too but it was more than that. These people healed almost immediately and they never got older."

"There you go then. Ryan didn't heal immediately." Jim felt certain that he had debunked this theory.

"Maybe they have different recovery rates. Just as some people only have one enhanced sense, but you have all five. Think about it, Jim. Imagine being able to live for hundreds of years - hey, maybe even thousands of years." Blair paused as he thought about that. "The things these people could tell us..."

Jim didn't want to burst Sandburg's bubble, but the concept of people rising from the dead was more than he could handle. He shuddered at the thought of people like Gillespie or, even worse, someone like Lash, coming back over and over... No... that thought was too disturbing. "How could someone like that go undetected in this day and age? Especially if they don't grow old?"

"If anything, it would be easier now, man. How well do you know your neighbors? If you moved every few years, nobody would ever know that you're not aging."

"What about the IRS? What would happen if someone's been paying taxes for over a hundred years? What happens when you are ready to retire and you still look like a young man?" Jim sat back with a satisfied smile. "Let's see you come up with an answer for that, genius!"

"Easy. You get a new ID. If the government can create a new identity for someone in the witness relocation program, why couldn't they?"

Jim thought about that for a moment. He knew that it wasn't all that difficult to come up with a new ID. They could fake their own death and then move to a new location and start all over. A sudden chilling thought came to him. "Gillespie didn't exist ten years ago, Blair. What if he's one of... of... Do these people have a name?"

"This book called them Immortals. I guess it's as good a name as anything." Blair shoved the book in front of the Sentinel.

Jim scanned the text quickly. "Does any of your research say how to stop these Immortals? A silver bullet? Maybe a stake through the heart?"

"Nah, those only work on vampires," Blair said with a grin. "I'll have to do some more research. I don't remember reading anything about that. But we have to find something. Otherwise, Gillespie will keep coming back over and over until he finally succeeds." Blair cringed at the thought.

"He won't succeed, Chief," the Sentinel comforted his Guide. "Somehow, I'll stop him. If he's locked up in prison, he won't be able to do anything."

"All he'd have to do is kill himself. They haul him to the nearest morgue and he's out again. What are you going to tell people - if a prisoner dies, let him rot in his cell until you know he isn't coming back to life?"

"I don't know, Chief. If we start telling everyone that there are people who can live forever out there, they'll send us to the funny farm. This isn't quite the same as having Sentinel skills that can be proven. We can't go around killing people just to see if they come back to life!"

Blair slumped dejectedly in his seat. "Yeah, you're right." He perked up again when another thought hit. "You don't have to kill them - just make a small cut. If it heals quicker than normal, then you have proof."

"I can see the procedures now. First you take a suspect's fingerprints, then the mug shot, and then use a scalpel to make a small incision. The civil rights people would be after us with a vengeance." The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. Jim flipped it open and answered it. After a few moments of talking, he hung up. "Let's go, Chief. They found Gillespie's car. And for now, let's keep all the talk of Immortals between ourselves."

Jim stopped at the door leading outside and did a quick scan. There were only four other cars in the parking lot and one motorcycle. Seeing and sensing no one close by except some people in the Anthropology building, he quickly escorted Blair to his truck.

* SENT * SENT

Arriving at the crime scene - a section of town filled with empty warehouses - Jim once again used his senses to scan the area before he would let Blair get out of the truck. He'd already made one mistake last night that had put Blair back in the line of fire, and almost gotten him killed. He wasn't going to do it twice. This would be the perfect setup for an ambush. But the only people he could sense were the forensic team. Together, Jim and Blair approached the suspect's car, or rather what remained of the suspect's car.

All the windows had been blown out and the tires were flat. Looking around the area, Jim noticed other scorch marks on the sides of the deserted buildings. "What happened to the car?" he asked. "Looks like a bomb went off in it."

"No bomb did this," the leader of the forensic team said. "There would be more damage to the interior of the car. The electrical system is fried and every piece of glass in the car is shattered. The closest thing we can come up with was that it was hit by lightning. While it did rain today, I don't remember any lightning and thunder involved."

With his Guide close behind him, alert for any zone out, the Sentinel opened his senses to examine the car. He detected a small aroma of gunpowder inside the car, but no indication of other explosives. Stepping back, he surveyed the surrounding area. Almost immediately, he started gagging from the foul stench of garbage and human waste that permeated the area, and assailed his sense of smell.

"Take it easy, Jim," Blair coached. "Block out each of the smells, one at a time. Identify it and move on. Look for what doesn't belong."

With the calm, soothing voice guiding him, Jim resumed his search. One by one, he categorized the scents and then blocked them out. "Blood. I can smell blood." He started walking in the direction it was coming from. Now using his eyes, he located a minute trace that hadn't been washed away by the rain. There wasn't even enough to collect for a sample so he didn't bother pointing it out to the forensic team. He would have had a hard time explaining how he had found it anyway.

Figuring that he could be of no further use to the forensic team, Jim decided to head home. He and Blair stopped to grab something to eat, and then went to the loft.

Once they were comfortably ensconced on the sofa, each with a beer in his hand, Blair returned to their earlier discussion. "You know, Jim, I bet MacLeod might be one of these Immortals, too. Or at least know something about them."

"How do you figure, Chief?" Sometimes the ideas that Blair seemed to pull from the air amazed Jim. Especially when they turned out to be correct.

"Remember how you said he calmed down when you told him that Richie had been shot? If he knew that Richie was Immortal and that gunshots wouldn't kill him permanently, then that would explain his attitude."

"You're right." Jim jumped to his feet and started pacing around. "And it would explain why he wasn't surprised when the body turned up missing."

"But there must be a way to kill them permanently. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been upset in the first place."

"I think you're on to something here, Chief. I think we need to go have another little discussion with MacLeod tomorrow."

"Okay. But can we do it in the afternoon? I want to go to the library first thing tomorrow, and check out some reference books that might have more info on these Immortals. I'd also like to try to find out more about MacLeod. Maybe I can get some proof that he's Immortal."

"Sure. I can finish up some paperwork in the morning while you do your research."

* SENT * SENT

The next morning, they stopped at the library before heading for the University. After escorting Blair to his office, Jim climbed back into his truck and started the engine. He waited for the motorcycle just entering the parking lot to pull into a parking space before he backed out and headed to the precinct. Something kept nagging at his brain, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. If Blair had been with him, he knew that he could have focused in on the problem and identified it. He had no idea how Sandburg did it, but somehow his Guide always managed to help him concentrate or come up with solutions for his problems.

Halfway to the station, he finally gave up trying to figure out what was bothering him, instead plotting out what he needed to do that day. Considering how Simon had reacted when he had heard about Jim's enhanced senses, the Captain would probably go ballistic when he heard about Immortals. This information would be best kept under wraps - at least until they had definitive proof.

One thing he could do would be to follow up on the alleged death of Richie Ryan in Paris. Sandburg had said it was in a motor... Suddenly, Jim realized what he had been missing - motorcycles. "Damn," he muttered as he checked traffic before doing a screeching 180 degree turn and headed back towards the university at top speed, lights flashing. He reached for his cell phone and called Blair's office, only to get a message that the line was temporarily out of service. It couldn't be a coincidence. He'd seen a motorcycle the second time Gillespie tried to kill Blair, and then twice again at the university. He now realized that they were all the same bike - that's what he'd been missing all along. And Simon had said that a motorcycle helmet had disappeared from the morgue. If the Ryan who died in Paris was the same as the one who died here - he obviously knew how to ride one. Maybe he and Gillespie were in on it together. Maybe they had something even worse planned for Blair than killing him outright...

Just a few more minutes, he told himself, and he'd be there. And God help Ryan or Gillespie if they had hurt Blair. He would dismember them if that was what it took to kill them off. Or maybe leave them deep inside one of the abandoned mines that filled the hills north of Cascade. A little dynamite and they'd never get out. Let them live out their perverted lives in total darkness with no food or water...

Reaching the university, Jim didn't bother parking the truck. He just left it where it was as he ran into the Anthropology building, up the stairs and down the hallway. He increased the level of his hearing to try to judge what was happening in Sandburg's office. The fact that no music was blaring out was not a good sign. Then he caught Blair's voice.

"Kill me now. Put me out of my misery."

Oh, no! What had they done to his friend that would cause him to beg for his life to end?! They must have been torturing him! Anger raging through him, Jim drew his weapon as he took the last few steps to the door in a flying leap, busting the door wide open.

* SENT *

Blair carefully locked the door of his office behind Jim's retreating figure before cranking on his stereo. Settling into his chair, he started digging into the books he had found at the library.

Blair didn't hear the knock at the door or see the doorknob turning. His first indication of trouble was when he felt a movement of air. He looked up just in time to see the office door swinging open. Frantically, he looked around for a weapon, and grabbed an African tribal spear from the wall.

"Hey, chill, man. You won't need that!" the intruder said.

Blair almost dropped the spear as he saw the man who had entered the office. Same short reddish-blond hair, same build, same motorcycle helmet, different coat. Well that made sense. The other one had bullet holes in it, and had been covered in blood. "Richie?" Even with his theories about Immortals, he still couldn't quite believe who was standing in front of him.

"Yeah. Alive and kicking." Richie gave him a sheepish grin. "I... uh... knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me over the music. You know you really should get a better lock on that door. I had it open in twenty seconds."

"But... " Blair stopped and shook his head. Blindly reaching out, he shut off the CD player with one hand, keeping the other firmly gripped around the spear. "Why are you here? Is it because I know that you're Immortal? I won't tell anyone else. I promise."

Richie looked startled for a moment. "How did you...? No, never mind. That's not why I'm here. Mac said you came by asking questions about me and that you were a little upset about me dying in your place. You seemed like a really nice guy, so I decided to come set the record straight. Say, do you mind putting that thing down?" Richie waved toward the spear. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"You... you saved my life."

Richie shrugged his shoulders. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. So how did you find out about Immortals?"

Blair leaned the spear against the wall - still within reach - and flopped into his desk chair. He gestured towards the only other chair in the room not covered with stacks of files and Richie sat down too. "I found references to Immortals while I was doing some research. Oh, man, this is so cool!" Blair thought for a moment, trying to decide which question to ask first. "So, like, how old are you really?"

"I'm twenty-two."

"Oh," Blair said, disappointment rushing through him. "I thought you could live for hundreds of years. I guess I was wrong."

"Well, actually, you're not. I *could* live for hundreds of years." Richie smiled. "I'm still working on it. I only died for the first time, three years ago - when a street punk, high on drugs, shot me."

"And Gillespie is Immortal, too?" Fear and dread of the answer flooded through Blair.

"He was..." Richie's face took on a hard look.

"Was? As in - he's dead?" Blair felt a surge of relief. "But how do you kill someone who's Immortal?"

"Let's just say you don't have to worry about him anymore. But I'll deny this conversation ever happened if you tell it to your cop friend. There are some things I'm willing to tell you, but not how to go around killing us. Plus, whatever I do tell you has to be kept between us. If you start running around telling people about Immortals, you'll attract attention that you don't really want. Okay?"

"Fair enough, I guess. So, why did you kill Gillespie? He was after me, not you. He was one of your kind."

"That fact alone would have been enough reason for some Immortals to go after him. I did it because Gillespie had no right to go after a mortal. He had an unfair advantage. We have our own set of rules, and we administer our own type of justice. I challenged him and won in a fair fight."

"You make it sound like Immortals don't like each other." This didn't make any sense to Blair.

"Let's just say that Immortals have been doing battle for thousands of years. We don't *have* to fight each other, but for various reasons that I don't want to go into, we still do. However, I do have several Immortal friends who I would trust with my life."

Blair decided to take a chance. "Like MacLeod?" he asked.

Richie stared at Blair intently for several long moments. Finally, he answered. "Yeah. He was my teacher. But if he found out that I told you he was Immortal, he'd kick my butt across the country. In fact, he'd probably do that if he found out I came back here to talk to you."

"Why would he do that?"

"Mortals aren't supposed to know we exist. It would make us a target for anyone - doctors who think they can cure the world or someone who thinks we can be used for doing something dangerous since we can't die. And of course, there are always those who think we should be killed off, just because we're different. So, it's one of our rules, and Mac is a real stickler for not breaking the rules."

"I can sympathize. Jim - my cop friend as you put it - is like that," Blair said, thinking that the target issue was the same for the Sentinel, too. There were a lot of people out there who would try to take advantage of him, if they could. "So how old is MacLeod?"

"He's just over four hundred years old."

"Whoa..." Blair sat back and contemplated that. "Imagine living that long..."

"I also know someone who's over a thousand and then there's the oldest Immortal - he's five thousand years old."

Blair's mouth dropped open. "Fi...fi...five th...th...thousand? Are you sure?" he finally managed to stutter out.

"Well, that's what they tell me anyway. It's not exactly easy to check. After all, they didn't have birth certificates back then."

"He must be like... so wise...and the knowledge he must possess... I can picture him... he must just radiate wisdom and serenity... What?" Blair asked when Richie started laughing so hard that he almost fell off his chair.

Richie leaned forward conspiratorially once he'd stopped laughing. "Don't tell anyone this... but I thought he was a jerk." He leaned back and grinned at Blair's expression. "Really! He looks just like you or me. His favorite drink is beer and, man, can he put it away! I asked him one time if he had some words of wisdom for me and he said no."

"But still... The things he could tell me... The things he's seen..."

"Even if he were willing to talk to you, I wouldn't trust what he says. He could tell you what you want to hear, not what really happened. Or he may just make up something to try to shock you. Let me tell you, you really don't want to talk to this guy."

"So, like, did you always know you were Immortal? Did your parents tell you? How did you know Gillespie was one? Will your children be Immortal, too? Do you only have children with other Immortals or can you have them with mortals, too? And what's it like knowing you'll live forever?"

"Hold on! One at a time." Richie grinned across the desk as Blair took a deep breath. "Let's see. I didn't know I was Immortal until I died the first time. We can sense one another and most of us can sense people who will become Immortal if they die a violent death. Mac knew what I was when he took me in - not that he told me - and he tried to keep me from dying too soon. Immortals are orphans - none of us know who our real parents were or where we came from. And we can't have kids, not with each other and not with mortals..."

"Wow. That's a real bummer."

"Yeah. As for living forever - it's a frightening idea and a lonely life. If I hook up with a female Immortal I'll have to worry that someday she might try to kill me or vice versa. If I marry a mortal woman, I'll stay nineteen forever while she ages. I'm going to have to move - change identities - to keep people from finding out I'm different. And I'm always having to watch for other Immortals. It's not an easy life."

"Whoa. I guess I never thought about that. But surely there are some good things about it? Besides rising from the dead?"

"Oh, yeah. Imagine having a friend for centuries. I don't have to worry about getting gray hair or having it fall out. No AIDS, arthritis, Alzheimer's, or senility to worry about. And who knows, someday I may even be able to race starships instead of motorcycles."

"So, it was you? In Paris, I mean. You died in a racing accident."

"Yeah. Another one of my less than shining moments. There I was, in the morgue, no money, no clothes, and on the wrong side of town. And it was cold. Let me tell you, trying to get across Paris wrapped in a sheet is not exactly my idea of a good time."

The images flashing through Blair's mind were too much, and he started to laugh.

"Stop that!" Richie insisted with a grin. "It wasn't funny. And to top it off, I knew I'd probably get a thirty minute lecture from Mac once I reached his place.

"Ticked off, was he?" Blair asked.

"Actually, more disappointed than anything. I felt about six inches tall. But then he told me that he'd screwed up many times in his life, too. That helped."

"MacLeod sounds a lot like my friend, Jim. He's also really good with the guilt trip. But underneath, you can tell that he cares."

"You're right. Mac is just like that. But sometimes his older and wiser routine wears a little thin. Been there, done that, you don't want to do that, trust me. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, but it could be worse. Try living with a guy who uses color coded containers so we don't get our leftovers mixed up." Blair sat back in his chair, finding it hard to believe how comfortable he felt, sitting here talking to Richie.

"You must be kidding!"

"Honest truth," Blair insisted with a grin. "The things I could tell you... You should hear his house rules - like no flushing the john after 10:00 pm."

"Whatever we do, we can't let those two get together and compare notes. Just think what they could come up with if they put their heads together."

Blair put his hands to his head in mock horror. "Oh yeah. Kill me now. Put me out of my misery."

Just then the office door crashed open and they both jumped in shock.

"FREEZE," Jim yelled out as he sighted his target. And then came to a complete stop as the scene registered on his brain. Two pairs of blue eyes stared at him from shocked faces, one on each side of the desk. There were no weapons in sight and no signs of torture.

Blair recovered first. "Jim! What are you doing?"

The Sentinel slowly lowered his gun and then put it away as he realized that Blair wasn't in any danger. "I thought I was rescuing you," he finally admitted before turning to the other occupant of the office. "You must be Ryan."

Richie and Blair exchanged glances. "Sorry. I think you have me mixed up with someone else," Richie said as he stood up. "Hey, Blair, it's been great, but I need to run."

Jim pushed him back down into the chair. "Sorry, pal. But you're not going anywhere until I get some answers. If necessary, we can take this down to the station, Ryan."

"Chill, man. I haven't done anything," Richie protested. "And my name's not Ryan."

"Fine. Then let's see some ID." Jim glowered at the Immortal.

"It was stolen yesterday," Richie said as he tried to leave again.

Jim grabbed him by the coat, spun him around and slammed him up against the wall. "Listen, punk. I'm tired of playing games here," he growled. "I want some answers and I want them now! Where's Gillespie?"

"Hey, Jim, take it easy, man," Blair said as he hurried around his desk. He placed a calming hand on the Sentinel's arm. "Let him go, Jim. He didn't come here to hurt me."

The detective released Richie, backed off, and took a deep breath. "We have to stop Gillespie, Chief. Otherwise, one of these days, he might get lucky and manage to kill you."

"Gillespie won't be back, Jim," Blair explained. "It's over. Richie killed him - permanently this time."

Jim turned an accusing glare back to Ryan. "*You* killed him? You're under arrest for murder, Ryan." He reached for the Immortal again only to have Blair get in the middle.

"Jim!" Blair protested. "You don't have a case. There's no body, no evidence, no proof. And technically, Gillespie died in the shoot-out. How are you going to explain booking Richie for killing someone who was already dead? Besides, Richie saved my life. You can't arrest him."

"I'm a cop, Sandburg. It's my job. Being Immortal doesn't put him above the law. Nor does saving your life. As for proof, if he told you that he killed Gillespie, then you can testify that he confessed."

"Well, he didn't actually *say* he killed him, Jim."

Jim took another deep breath. He knew he didn't have a case against Ryan. And he really didn't want to book the man. What he did want was proof that Gillespie was really gone for good this time. "All right. Here's the deal. You answer some questions, Ryan, and then I'll let you go. You have my word on that. But I don't ever want to see you around here, ever again."

"You can trust him," Blair told Richie when he saw the skeptical look on the Immortal's face.

"All right," Richie conceded. "What do you want to know?"

"First off, where's Gillespie's body? I want proof that he's really dead this time."

Richie gave a cynical little laugh. "No way, man. I'm not leading you to the proof you need to arrest me. What I will tell you is this. When two Immortals battle and one loses, it releases something we call a Quickening. It's like a lightning storm. Wreaks havoc with electrical systems. Blows out windows. Things like that. Now I just happened to see a car at..."

"Yeah, we found it," Jim interrupted. "So that's what happened to it. Fair enough. Next question. How do we stop Immortals? I need to know what to do if we run into another one. And for that matter, is there any way of telling who's Immortal?"

"Immortals can sense each other but there's no way you can tell. If a body disappears from the morgue - then there's a good chance he was Immortal. As for stopping us, well, let's just say that police aren't given the necessary equipment to do it permanently. But a gun will still do it temporarily."

"For how long? And what kind of equipment do we need? If it's out there, we can get it."

"How long depends on a lot of things. The age of the Immortal and how much damage was done being the top two issues. The older the Immortal and the more Quickenings they have, the faster they heal. The more damage caused, the slower they heal. It's not exactly a science."

"Yeah," Blair said. "That makes sense. Is that why you fight each other? To get these... these - what did you call it? - Quickenings? So, you'll heal faster?"

"That's one of the reasons," Richie agreed.

"Let's get back to the equipment we need to carry," Jim insisted.

"Forget it, man. I'm not going to tell you how to kill us," Richie said as he crossed his arms defiantly.

"Fine. Have it your way. You're under arrest, Ryan." With that, Jim roughly spun Richie around and pushed him up against the wall. "Assume the position," he ordered. Reaching around to the front, he started patting down Ryan's chest. "What the..." Jim backed up and once again spun Richie around so that he was facing him. He opened the man's coat and extracted a very large sword.

"Whoa!" Blair jumped back. "How did he keep that hidden?"

"A sword?" he asked Ryan. "Let me guess," he started sarcastically. "You run around chopping each other's heads off - right?"

"Oh, Jim. That is, like, *so* gross, man!" Blair exclaimed with a look of disgust on his face. "Where do you come up with these ideas?"

But the Sentinel was too busy observing Ryan's reaction to the question. The Immortal's skin had taken on a slight flush, the heartbeat had accelerated, and he had begun to lightly perspire.

"That *is* it - isn't it," Jim said with a tinge of disbelief in his voice. "You said Immortals battled each other. You do it with swords. And the winner takes the loser's head." Even through the heavy leather coat, Jim could tell that Ryan had a firm, muscular body. Strong upper body strength - to hold a sword and fight with it. But how could this... this *kid* chop off someone's head? Unless he was older than he appeared. Even with his covert-ops training, Jim wasn't sure if he could do something as horrific as that.

Staring into the still defiant blue eyes, Jim came to a decision. One he hoped he wouldn't regret later. This man had saved Blair's life and maybe Jim's sanity, too. He really didn't want to find out what life would be like without his Guide. Carefully, he turned the sword around, hilt-first, and handed it back to Ryan. He almost smiled as the defiance changed to disbelief. "You can go now, Ryan. But I suggest you don't come back here."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem, man. Wild horses couldn't drag me back here," Richie stated emphatically as he sheathed his sword.

"Where will you go?" Blair asked.

Richie shrugged. "I'll just travel around some more. Maybe go back to Paris for a while. I really liked it there. Who knows? I don't think it will be a good idea to go home." Regret echoed through his words. "The cops may want to know why I'm still alive."

"Isn't there anything we can do about that, Jim?" Blair asked with pleading eyes. "Tell them the ID was wrong? Something? And how can you go to Paris, Richie? I thought you died there, too."

Richie shrugged again. "I'll just have to be careful. Besides, with this haircut, I doubt anyone will recognize me. I wore it longer back then." "I can't promise anything, Ryan," Jim said. Somehow it just didn't seem right that Ryan was the one who had to pay the price. Even knowing that he couldn't die, it would have still taken a lot of courage to step into the line of fire that way. Besides, Blair would probably keep hounding him about it until he did something. "But I'll try to clear up the records here so you can go home."

"Thanks a lot. I appreciate it. See you guys around." Richie grabbed his helmet and headed for the door.

"Hey, Ryan," Jim called.

Richie stopped at the door and looked back. "Now what?"

"Thanks for what you did."

Richie looked puzzled for a moment before grinning widely. "You're welcome. Glad I could help. Put it down as my good deed for the year." He gave a jaunty wave before heading down the hallway.

Blair sank back down on his chair. "Wow. That is like, *so* out there, man! People who can live forever running around with swords fighting each other. Chopping each other's heads off. How do you suppose they train for that anyway?"

"Haven't a clue, Chief."

"They'd make a fascinating case study. Richie said MacLeod was his teacher - I wonder if they always mentor the young ones? And if so, how do they choose who does it? Do they pass down their information from teacher to pupil? And what are the cultural ramifications of living for that long? Maybe it's not too late to stop Richie. Or maybe I should go visit MacLeod. There's so much I want to know..." Blair headed for the door.

Jim reached out and grabbed his arm. "Hold it right there, Chief. You're going to stay away from these guys. They carry long, sharp swords, remember? I don't want you losing your head over this."

Blair looked at Jim for a moment before starting to laugh. "I guess Immortals bring a whole new meaning to that phrase, don't they. I wonder if that's how it originated... I'll have to do some research..."

Jim sighed as Sandburg went off on another tangent. "Later, Chief. Right now we need to figure out what to tell Simon. Let's go." Jim waved his hand towards the open door and together they headed down the hallway.

"Why do we need to tell Simon anything? Gillespie is dead and Richie is leaving town."

"And what about the manhunt going on for Gillespie? And the black and white that he has assigned to watch our place at night? We can't let that continue."

"Well, why don't we tell him the truth, then?" Blair suggested with an innocent, wide-eyed expression.

Jim turned disbelieving eyes towards his Guide. "This from the man that said truth was totally overrated?"

"You wouldn't want me to lie to Simon, would you?"

"Of course not. I just want you to come up with one of your usual embellishments or obfuscations," Jim said as he aimed a playful slap at the anthropologist's head.

"Okay. Okay. Give me a moment to think," Blair said as he approached the truck. "How about telling him a UFO swooped down and carried him away?"

"Get in the truck, Chief," Jim said with a deep sigh.

"What? You don't think he'll buy that one?"

"Get in the truck," Jim ordered again.

"Okay. How about a tribe of head-hunting pygmies took him away?"

"Now, Sandburg!"

"Geez, try to help a guy..."

The end.


End file.
